No bed of roses
by MLaw
Summary: Napoleon is feeling down after a particularly difficult mission. Written for the Song-Story challenge on section7mfu Live Journal. pre-saga. The prompt was a You-Tube video of Bon Jovi's 'Bed of Roses."


He walked into a neighborhood dive, just wanting to get a drink or two to relax and passed by a man standing in a phone booth, who was speaking in an animated fashion, with his hands in constant motion. There was what looked like was a King's ransom in rolls of dimes stacked on the shelf in front of him. A long distance phone call, the UNCLE agent presumed and a tense one at that.

The bar was filled with smoke from cigarettes hanging in the mouths of the local bar flies and derelicts who graced the establishments presence, no doubt on a daily basis, both day and night.

Someone, sat at an old piano in the corner, tickling the ivories with a melancholy sort of tune, though it was unrecognizable.

Napoleon Solo seated himself among them, dressed in such a way that he would blend in with the crowd, though it wasn't intentional. No designer suit, just rumpled everyday work clothes the average Joe would wear, that's what had been needed for this affair. He needed a shave as his scruffy beard augmented the dark circles beneath his eyes.

He was tired, dog tired. The assignment he'd just completed had taken everything out of him and now he just wanted to wind down, have his drinks, go back to the hotel room and collapse into bed. He had an early morning flight to New York out of O'Hare airport...

Normally he'd be on the prowl for some attractive woman to keep him company, possibly spending the night with her, but not tonight, especially the way he was looking and feeling.

Though not wanting companionship per se, he suddenly felt very alone, missing his partner who was off on an assignment of his own.

Napoleon paused in his thoughts as he remembered the old days, how he once had relished working alone...no one to bother him or for him to keep out of trouble in a rookie sort of way. Now it was just the opposite, as he hated working by himself.

He'd become too accustomed to the Russian working by his side, with his cool character and razor sharp barbs as the two of them bantered back and forth. There was always a bit of a competitive edge between them, a friendly sort of one-upmanship but that was part of what he liked about working with Illya Kuryakin, regardless of the fact the man had become his best friend and always had his back.

Napoleon sighed, knowing Illya was on the other side of the world, somewhere in Singapore. There had been a problem with a mission that Mark Slate had been assigned to and April Dancer was missing.

That made Solo's stomach turn a into queasy knot, though he and April had ended their romantic affair, he was still attached to her. That was the reason he'd broken it off in the first place...and she had conveniently met someone else. Still...

Napoleon shook himself free of those feelings and ordered another scotch from the bartender, a woman who's wig was a little crooked on her head, but this time he asked her for a shot of vodka as well.

The barkeep looked at him strangely, knowing he was alone, but sat the drink in front of Napoleon anyway. Who was she to refuse a customer, unless of course, he was stinking drunk, which this guy wasn't...yet. He was good looking under that beard and she gave him the eye.

Napoleon caught the flirtatious glance and well, he might have said yeah, but controlled himself as he tried not to laugh. "Ooh yeah. Control yourself Solo, you're not that desperate."

He placed the vodka to the side, lifting his own drink and tapped the glass to the one on the bar in a silent toast to his partner.

"Hey is that for me?" A blonde asked as she sidled up to the agent.

He looked her up and down, surprised to see such a pretty girl in this den of iniquity, and guessed she was a hooker, as she was dressed in a skimpy mini-skirt and top.

"Not really no, but if you'd like a drink..."

"I would as a matter of fact," she smiled, looking at the bartender, "Gin tonight Gladys." She slipped onto the barstool next to Solo, leaning forward and letting him get a good view of her cleavage. Withdrawing a cigarette from her little purse; she held it to her lips and waited for the handsome guy to light it for her.

Napoleon pulled a Zippo from his pocket, taking the cigarette from her lips, and putting it to his own mouth, he lit it, took a long drag and handed it back to her as he slowly exhaled the smoke.

"Gin it is Mariah." Gladys straightened her wig and poured the blonde her drink, with a look of disappointment in her eyes. No luck for her tonight, not with Mariah around.

"That's on me Gladys," Napoleon said, "and back us up with another round, he threw down more money and the bartender set a pair of upturned shot glasses in front of the two of them.

"So Mariah is it? Solo rubbed his hand across his face, not liking the feeling of his beard. "My name is Anthony," his voice oozed with his usual charm as always when speaking to a pretty woman.

"Well hi there Anthony, thanks for the drink. You're not a local, I don't recognize you."

"No, just passing through."

She ran her finger along his jawline. "I like your beard, very masculine."

"Not my style," he rubbed it again with his hand, reaching for his glass the other and raised it to her. "Here's to having nothing to prove," he toasted.

She picked up her gin and the two of them downed their drinks in one swallow.

"That was a strange toast Anthony."

"These are strange times," he answered cryptically.

Mariah decided not to delve into that one and proceeded along a simpler line of conversation.

"So what do you do for a living?" She asked as she pressed her breasts against his arm.

"A salesman, just a travelling salesman." He suddenly realized he didn't look the part dressed in his scruffy clothes.

"Yeah, right," Mariah winked. "Tinker, tailor, soldier, spy; I've heard them all, and I'm not a lady of the evening either..."she paused. "You interested?"

Napoleon's mood suddenly changed with her question, even though he'd suspected that was her profession. As tired as he was, he realized he was even more lonely. After a few more drinks, he decided to take Mariah up on her offer.

He paid the tab, leaving a generous tip, and Gladys rapped twice on the bar acknowledging it, watching with her hopes dashed as the handsome stranger left with Mariah.

Together they walked back to his hotel, one of the less seedy ones in the area. They went up to his room, and as Mariah made herself comfortable, pouring them both drinks from the mini-bar, Solo went into the bathroom.

He looked at himself in the mirror, and not liking what he saw, he gave himself a quick shave.

"Oh, you didn't?" Mariah exclaimed when he walked out, "I liked your beard, though now that I see your face...hmmm, you're quite the handsome one. She stood up, going directly to him and wrapping her arms around his waist, she kissed him on the lips.

Napoleon, momentarily aroused, kissed her back but suddenly stopped himself. This wasn't what he wanted. No, sex wasn't what he needed.

He pulled his wallet from his pants pocket, taking out few bills. "I'm sorry Mariah, not that you aren't tempting...I've just changed my mind."

She looked at him with raised eyebrows; taking the cash without hesitation. Her life was no bed of roses and for a John to offer her money without having to do anything for it was a refreshing change.

Mariah liked this guy as there was something about him, though she couldn't quite put her finger on it, and she probably would have given him a freebie. Still she needed the dough and it was obvious he wasn't in the mood.

The girl smiled, giving him a peck on the cheek. "Thanks Anthony, I appreciate this." She headed out the door, and Napoleon locked it after her.

He sat down on his bed, pulling his communicator from his shirt pocket.

"Open channel D-overseas relay. Kuryakin please..."

"Kuryakin here," the Russian answered.

"How goes it chum?"

"Napoleon? Complicated...is something wrong?"

"Noooo, everything's all right now. I guess I was missing my best friend...and I'm worried about April too. Any luck finding her?"

"Sadly no. So I am taking a guess that you are done with your assignment."

"Yeah, it was a rough one, especially not having you there to back me up."

There was silence for a moment. "You are unharmed, correct?"

"I'm fine, just tired and grungy," Napoleon smiled, anticpating one of the Russian's scathing remarks.

"Well I have news for you, and I take it Mr. Waverly has not contacted you as of yet...you will be joining me in Tokyo."

"Really? Wait, I thought you were in Singapore."

"No it was Shanghai...that was where Mark and his team started out but things have taken an unexpected turn. Mr. Waverly will brief you I am sure. Get a good night's rest as you will no doubt need it. I have to go now, as I have just arrived at Tokyo General to check on Mark. I will see you soon my friend. Kuryakin out."

"Wait..." It was too late. Solo closed his communicator, looking at the clock on the wall. It was two in the morning, yet now he suddenly felt invigorated, though he had a concern about Illya's statement regarding Mark Slate being in the hospital, and of course April...

No sooner had he put his communicator on the nightstand, then it began to warble it's familiar call.

"Solo here," he answered it quickly.

"Yes Mr. Solo," Alexander Waverly spoke,"Sorry if I've woken you but I have an urgent assignment that needs your attention. You are to join Mr. Kuryakin in Japan."

There was silence. "Are you there Mr. Solo?"

"Yes sir I am," Napoleon smiled..." I am so there.


End file.
